Quirky Quota
by jaxink
Summary: G1: Prowl's pesky glitch tells him every mech is sparked with certain quotas. One morning, Prowl wakes up and realizes he has exhausted a quota of his own.
1. Part One

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers.

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_A/N: Inspiration for this resulted from a prompt on a random writing site I came across. Of course, I modified it to fit my own twisted needs to torture Prowl and amuse myself. Enjoy!_

**Quirky Quota**

_Part One_

Deep in recharge, the Autobot tactician felt his peacefully whirring systems begin to awaken. A nagging thought formed within his logic processor, making it difficult to concentrate. He ignored it, brushing it aside for the time being. Unfortunately, it was a persistent, nagging thought, and he was unable to block it as it was brought up during his diagnostics scan again. Realization and shock registered as Prowl discovered his own logic glitch had turned on him.

When he was a sparkling, Prowl's creators were told by a medic that his logic processor, while highly developed, had one glitch that was irreparable. The medic assured his creators that the glitch wouldn't hinder his development in any way, so it wasn't something to worry over. This glitch in his programming led Prowl to believe every mech is sparked with certain quotas. He believed their robotic forms are already programmed with the number of mechs they'll meet, the amount of energon they'll drink, the number of planets they'll travel to. The Datsun never realized his glitch would determine when _he_ had depleted one of his quotas.

His logic glitch was telling his systems that he had exhausted his quota of speech.

For a mech who was normally one of few words, it was astonishing. Had he really spoken that much over so many millions of years? Shaking his head, Prowl deemed his own logic illogical. Opening his mouth, he went to say, "My name is Prowl." All that came out was, "_Beep._"

Narrowing his optics, Prowl glared down at himself. What was that? Determined to form words, he opened his mouth again. "_Beep_." An annoying, short, high-pitched beep was all Prowl could extract from his vocalizer. "_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep_."

With a snarl, or imagining himself to snarl, the irritated tactician slammed his fists down onto the berth. This wasn't happening. What was he going to do?

His chronometer signaled it was time to get up from his berth to prepare for the day's shift. Fortunately, he wasn't scheduled for official duty for today, so the Datsun would have been able to enjoy a cube of energon. However, Prowl was much too frustrated with his current situation to think about refueling. Sitting up, despite feeling delightfully rested, he scowled and allowed his optics to sharpen his surroundings into focus and take in visuals. Prowl glanced to his right, noting his lover was absent. The tactician guessed Jazz must have left early that morning for his patrol shift, and he probably didn't want to wake him. Prowl didn't get enough recharge every cycle as it was.

The black and white police cruiser stood and walked nimbly to his desk to retrieve a data pad. He would solve this problem like any challenge or conundrum he normally faced--with his battle computer. His battle computer began running scenarios and ways to get around this glitch without letting anyone knowing. Prowl idly wondered what would happen if someone discovered his problem before he could figure it out. His logic center convinced his systems he could no longer speak because he used up his quota of speech? Frowning, Prowl knew he would be doomed with an explanation like that. The Twins alone would be able to find new ways to mock him for vorns to come.

Straightening his door wings (still a bit loose from a good night's rest), he exited his quarters and headed for the common room. Resolutely, he decided his day would continue as normal. On his way down the hallway, Prowl was greeted by various mechs. In response, he simply nodded, just as he would have normally done. Perhaps no one would be the wiser of his predicament. After all, Prowl often said very little. And he had no meetings scheduled that day, nor did he have any appointments to attend to. Yes, he could get through this.

Entering the room, he immediately made a path for the energon dispenser. Quickly grabbing a cube, Prowl made it a point not to glance up from reading his data pad. It would give the impression he was busy and wouldn't invite anyone to converse with the tactician. As so many times before, an unpredicted obstacle stared Prowl in the face.

"Hi, Prowl!" Bluestreak greeted warmly. The gunner's wings twitched, clearly conveying the younger Datsun's good mood that morning. "Did you recharge well?"

Deciding he couldn't be rude, Prowl simply nodded once and tried to continue on his way out of the common room. His office would provide sanctuary from chatty mechs!

"That's good. I just got off patrol duty with Jazz a few breems ago. Nothing exciting, but patrol is always fun with Jazz," Bluestreak continued.

Smiling gently, Prowl attempted to identify a way around the mech in front of him blocking his path. Looking to his left, he spotted Sunstreaker approaching. Yes! The yellow twin would come talk to Bluestreak so he could make a getaway.

Sunstreaker crossed his arms over his chest as he came to stand next to the two Datsuns. "Hey, Blue. Sides and I saved a seat for you. Go grab a cube and sit for a while."

Face beaming, Bluestreak said, "Great!" With that, he ambled off to get his own cube of energon.

Relieved, the second in command of the Autobots moved to make his triumphant exit, but Primus just hated him today. He felt a restraining hand on his shoulder and turned around with a look of confusion.

"Where you going, Prowl? Jazz is sitting over there, too. He told me to drag your aft over to be social for a little while," Sunny said with a smirk.

Whipping his head to look around the Lamborghini's form, he spotted his lover sitting next to Sideswipe. The Porsche noticed him watching and began to wave him over. Prowl's wings drooped a bit as his predicament became more complicated. He could still make a quick escape, right? His thoughts abruptly ended as he felt a not-so-gentle shove from Sunstreaker toward the table. "Go on, copper."

Dragging his feet after giving the golden warrior a stern glare, he made his way to join his lover and Sideswipe. Sunny sat himself back down in his chair, while gesturing to an open one for Bluestreak as he came over with his cube. Prowl collapsed into an unoccupied chair with little decorum.

"Jeez, Prowl. Didn't ya recharge well last night? You were knocked out when I left this morning," Jazz asked with concern as he took in the melancholic expression on the tactician's face.

Shaking his head, Prowl stared into his cube. "Do ya want ta talk about it?" the saboteur softly asked. He placed his hand on the Datsun's knee, stroking it gently.

Another shake of his head was Jazz's answer. "C'mon, Prowler. You can talk ta me about anythin'. Ya know that, right?"

Prowl nodded but did nothing else. "Fine, I won't push ya, but we're talkin' about this later." Jazz then turned his attention to the conversation between Sunny, Sides, and Blue, but he continued to glance worriedly at his lover.

His concerned glances went unnoticed, as Prowl furiously focused on finding a solution...this glitch had to go.


	2. Part Two

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers.

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_A/N: Thanks to everyone for reading! There will probably four parts to this, so I'm halfway there. Enjoy!_

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**Quirky Quota**

_Part Two_

After finishing his cube of energon, Prowl left the table in the common room without so much as a "See you later." or a "Stay out of trouble!" to Jazz. The Porsche felt his shoulders slump as he watched his lover sullenly trudge away. What was wrong with him? He hadn't spared any of them a word, even Bluestreak, who Prowl was usually kind enough to indulge in his need for conversation.

Staring into his cube, Jazz contemplated what could be bothering Prowl. Was he worried about a mission? A report? A meeting with some human officials was coming up, but those sorts of duties never posed a problem for the smart, responsible tactician. Jazz froze, wondering if he was the cause of the Datsun's melancholy. He felt his spark stutter within its casing; unable to consider the thought that…perhaps Prowl had grown tired of his company—of them?

Frowning, he grimaced while entertaining the thought. Their relationship was still fairly new, for Cybertronians anyhow, as they had only gotten together a few vorns ago. It had taken an entire vorn just to convince Prowl to consider interfacing with him. Jazz was a very patient mech, and he had been thrilled to discover all his waiting had paid off. Surprisingly, the police cruiser turned out to be a passionate lover, leaving Jazz pleasantly exhausted the recharge berth more than once.

Since then, their relationship had grown even stronger. Little by little, Jazz could see the changes in the stiff tactician. More smiles. More relaxed. More laughter. More…playful… Jazz hid his smirk at the thought behind his cube. Yes, pursuing Prowl had been the best choice he had ever made. Now thinking about it, the saboteur realized Prowl had changed him a bit as well. Recently, he had even thought about asking the Datsun to bond with him. Not a moment went by without Prowl in the forefront of his processors. Whatever was bothering Prowl, he wouldn't let it tarnish the relationship they had so carefully built together.

The Twins carried on their conversation with Blue, unaware of the quiet Porsche beside them. Knocking back the rest of his cube, Jazz stood to depart. Sideswipe looked up and smiled. "Headin' out already, Jazz? I thought you weren't on duty today, aside from patrol this morning with Blue."

"Nah, no more shifts for today. I'm gonna go track down, Prowl. I'll see you mechs later!" Jazz said and walked away with a wave.

Once in the hallway, the third in command of the Autobots wasn't sure where to start. He figured Prowl's office would be a safe bet of the tactician's current location. Walking down the hall with a light step, Jazz found himself there in no time. A quick knock on the door…

Nothing.

Jazz gently tapped the door again. "Prowl, you in there? Hello?"

"He's not there, Jazz," a voice from behind him came.

Jazz turned quickly to stare into the optics of Optimus Prime. He said, "Oh. Do ya know where I might be able ta find 'im, Prime?"

The large blue and red mech shook his head. "I don't know where he is. I, too, went to his office in search of him about a joor ago. I was surprised to discover he wasn't here. Though I know he rarely takes a day off, he technically isn't on duty today. Perhaps he's in his quarters?"

Scratching his helm, Jazz slowly nodded. "It's a possibility. Thanks, boss-bot!" And with that, the Porsche spun on his heel to walk the other way across the Ark.

* * *

Meanwhile, in the med bay, Ratchet grumbled as he sorted through his tools. The doors slid open, announcing the entrance of another mech, but the medic didn't bother looking up. "If you don't have an appointment, make one and get out. I don't have time for you antics today."

Prowl's expression turned to one of confusion as his doorwings drooped at the hasty dismissal from the chief medic. He scuffed his feet as he dragged them back toward the doors. Ratchet turned, irritated that the unwelcome guest was taking so long, only to be stunned.

"Prowl? What the slag are you doing in here?" Ratchet set down his tools and motioned for the second in command to come back. "Have a seat on the berth. I thought you were one of the Twins. Why didn't you say anything?"

Currently very depressed with the cruel irony of the situation, Prowl merely scowled and tapped his throat cables. Raising an optic ridge, Ratchet guessed, "Are your vocal processors malfunctioning?"

Prowl looked thoughtful for a moment before shaking his head "Yes" and "No."

Placing his hands on his hips, Ratchet laughed. "Well, it is or it isn't? Never mind, I know you can't answer. Let me take a look."

Ratchet deftly pried apart the cables and wires in the tactician's neck, searching for the hidden chips that held a mech's speech capabilities. "It looks fine to me. In perfect shape, in fact."

It may have looked fine, but Prowl knew differently. He was beginning to regret his decision to turn to Ratchet for help. The medic didn't know about his glitch, unless he'd accessed his health records. Swallowing his pride, Prowl opened his mouth. "_Beep_."

Optics blinking in surprise, Ratchet softly cursed. "What was that?"

Prowl tapped his throat helplessly, and once again said, "_Beep_."

Utterly puzzled, Ratchet let his arms hang at his sides. "I don't understand, Prowl. I've never seen something like this before. Your vocalizer is in fine condition, but you can't speak?"

Nodding solemnly, Prowl glared at the ground for a moment. Releasing air from his vents in a sigh, he looked at Ratchet expectantly. However, the medic didn't have answer for him. "Well, if I don't know why this is happening, I can't fix it."

Hopping down from the berth, the black and white Datsun walked to an information console by the wall. He typed in the necessary codes for access and drew up the buried part of his personal files. He tapped the screen and waved the bewildered medic over. "What's this?" Prowl gestured for him to read.

The tactician watched as Ratchet absorbed the information. Once he was finished, he stared at Prowl incredulously. "Your logic processors have a glitch? But what does that have to do with your vocalizer?"

Unbelievably frustrated, the Datsun pondered a way to communicate his point to the medic. His processors provided the answer—he couldn't believe he didn't think of it before, and he pulled out a data pad from subspace. Swiftly, he scribbled his predicament on the pad and handed it to an amused Ratchet.

Scanning the data pad, the pieces began coming together for him. The medic's optics flickered. "Your logic processors have convinced your systems that you exhausted your quota of speech? That may be the most _illogical_ thing I've ever heard."

Prowl simply slapped his helm, his hand sliding down his face in frustration.

"I see where this is a problem for you," Ratchet murmured sympathetically. "Well, I'm not sure what I can do for you, Prowl. If a medic tried to repair it in the past and was unsuccessful, I'm not confident I could do it. There's a chance the glitch may correct itself, as the strain of this problem may be causing your processors more trouble than its worth. Still, the only other viable solution is replacing your logic processors. But such a procedure could be dangerous and irreparably damage your main CPU."

The tactician stared at the medic, wings falling lower as the news washed over him. He took the pad back and wrote something before handing it back.

Ratchet read it and shook his head. "No, replacing your vocalizer wouldn't do much good. Your current one works fine. It's your programming that's hindering the speech process. And you know…there's a chance that the glitch may spread."

Becoming alarmed at this prospect, Prowl's face conveyed his question. How?

"Sometimes, with a persistent glitch, the programming error will multiply—spread to other systems. Your logic processors may believe you've exhausted your speech quota, but maybe next it will decide you've had enough energon. Something like that could kill you, Prowl."

His processors whirring, trying to sort the overwhelming information they were receiving, the police cruiser shakily took a few disoriented steps. Before he was able to stumble forward, Ratchet reached out to steady him and helped him back to a berth. Feeling even more confused and worried, Prowl looked at Ratchet once more.

The medic said, "I don't know how to fix this. I'm sorry, Prowl. I'll start researching this condition right away…see if we can't find a way to fool your processors. And if it's alright with you, I'll talk to Wheeljack and Perceptor as well. No doubt they'll enjoy a challenge like this. And of course, I'll have to let Optimus know. For now, I'm removing you from active battle duty."

Nodding, Prowl gathered his strength and stood to leave. Ratchet placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and said, "We'll figure this out. I promise."

* * *

Prowl walked slowly down the hallway, with no clear destination in mind. It was even worse than he could have predicted. His own faulty logic programming could potentially kill him. Great.

What a terrible orn…

Looking up, he realized he had stopped before the door to his own personal quarters. Deciding this was good a place as any to figure things out in his CPU, Prowl keyed in his code and entered the room.

Walking to his desk, he absently looked at a few data pads lying there. He heard a movement from behind him on his berth. Surprise flitted across his face as he spun around and finally realized someone else was in the room. Jazz?

The saboteur held up his hands to pacify the started tactician. Jazz felt his lips tighten with anxiety. He could never sneak up on Prowl normally. What was running through those processors of his? "Prowl? Are ya alright? You seemed kinda out of it this mornin'."

He sat in the chair at his desk feeling drained and defeated, so he just shook his head. Prowl wished so badly he could just explain things to Jazz.

"Prowler? Why won't ya talk ta me?" the saboteur implored, taking the Datsun's hands into his own.

Once again, all he received in response was the shake of his lover's head. Doubt once more crept into Jazz's thoughts as he was unable to crush the negative ideas threatening to overtake him. "Are ya giving me the silent treatment or somethin'? Did I do somethin' wrong last night? 'Cause if I did, just tell me, Prowl. I swear, whatever it is, I'll make it right."

Prowl's optics flared in distress. Jazz thought he was mad at him? This stupid glitch—it was ruining everything! Normally so calm and emotionless, Prowl felt his last bit of his control fade away as all his fears swept over him. Wordlessly, he desperately threw his arms around Jazz's neck and would have begun to sob if he could.


End file.
